


Crossroad Blues

by TheAsexualScorpio



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Demon Deals, Dubious Consent, F/M, Jonsaexchange, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualScorpio/pseuds/TheAsexualScorpio
Summary: He carefully places the box in the hole and idly wonders if he should pray or something. Probably not, considering what he’s trying to do, but it feels like he should say something. After a moment, he decides to simply say what it is he wants.“I want my brother, Robb Stark, to be alive again.”OR:Jon Snow is willing to do anything to get his brother back, even if it means making a deal...





	Crossroad Blues

**Author's Note:**

> There are some elements from the show "Supernatural," and the title is taken from the season two episode: "Crossroad Blues."
> 
> This fic is also a gift for lydiia-martins on tumblr for this month's jonsaexchange!

On the back end of the Stark farm, there’s an old dirt road that leads to the Cerwyn place. It intersects with the old King’s Road about half a mile down, but no one uses either much anymore, preferring the paved road on the other side of the property.

Jon Snow takes advantage of this fact one summer night about a month after his brother and stepmother were found in their kitchen with their throats slit.

He’s completely alone when he reaches the crossroads, the lights of the Stark and Cerwyn places far enough away to be mistaken for lightning bugs. He drops his shovel and aims his flashlight at the box in his other hand. It’s an old jewelry box of Arya’s that she never really used, and it’s covered in Disney stickers. Jon hopes it’s okay for him to use it. Nothing he read told him needed a special box. He opens the lid and checks the contents one last time. The first thing he sees is the spray of yarrow flowers, the yellow buds visible in the light of the full moon. Everything else he needs is in there too—a black cat bone, a picture of himself that Arya had managed to sneak once when he wasn’t looking, and a handful of graveyard dirt, courtesy of Robb himself. He shuts the box and carefully lays it on the ground next to the shovel. He puts the flashlight down too, picks up the shovel, and begins to dig.

It had rained earlier in the day, so it doesn’t take Jon long to dig a shallow hole just big enough to put the box in and cover it. Once he’s done, he drops the shovel and then lowers himself to his knees, ignoring the way the wet dirt seeps through the denim of his pants. He carefully places the box in the hole and idly wonders if he should pray or something. Probably not, considering what he’s trying to do, but it feels like he should say something. After a moment, he decides to simply say what it is he wants.

“I want my brother, Robb Stark, to be alive again.” With that, he shoves the dirt back into the hole with his hands. He pats the loose dirt a few times and looks around the edges of the hole to make sure the box is completely covered. Satisfied, he places his hands on his thighs and looks up, something like hope rising in his chest.  

The hope crashes and dies when he sees that no one is in the crossroads with him. Jon’s chest goes tight, and his eyes begin to burn. He looks back down at the mound of loose dirt in front of him.

Of course, no one’s in the crossroads with him. He curses his own stupidity. He’s grown man. The idea of some wish-granting creature bringing his brother back to him shouldn’t even have occurred to him, let alone taken root in his mind as something to actually try. Robb is dead, and there’s no bringing him back. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to stop the onslaught of tears. They flow in burning rivulets down his cheeks, and with his eyes closed, the memories he’d give anything to forget are somehow much easier to see. Robb’s dead body appears behind his eyelids, slumped back against a kitchen chair with his throat gaping like the world’s most obscene smile. Jon’s eyes snap open, and he lets out a ragged sob.

“Well…” a feminine voice to his left says. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Jon’s head jerks in the direction of the voice, and for a long second, he’s convinced that he’s lost his mind completely. His depression has stretched and snapped into full-blown, hallucinating psychosis.

Because Catelyn Stark is standing a couple of feet to his left.

She cocks her head at him, like she’s listening for something, and then she smiles. Her eyes—whites, irises, and pupils—bleed red, and Jon flinches, almost falling flat on his back. He tries to scramble away when Robb’s mother begins to walk toward him, but a preternaturally strong force clamps over his chest and forces him flat on his back. He feels the same force at his wrists and ankles when he tries pull himself up. Mrs. Stark stops at his feet and then raises one hand. He rises with it, like a puppet on strings, until he’s standing before her, his face no more than a couple of inches from hers. This close, Jon can see more than the glowing red eyes, and he realizes this woman isn’t his stepmother. She’s younger for one thing, and her hair is a brighter shade of red, more copper than auburn.

She smiles again, pleased. “Figured it out, have you?”

He has, but it’s still unsettling, how much this woman looks like Catelyn Stark. Jon feels the familiar urge to make himself smaller against the force of her attention. It never meant anything good. He manages to resist the urge, however. 

“Who are you?”

The red disappears from her eyes, leaving behind sapphire blue. “You may call me Sansa.”

“I’m…”

“Jon Snow,” she finishes. She looks down at herself and then back up at him, before giving him a teasing smile that’s a bit too sharp. “You know, I have worked with my share of sin, but can you believe you’re actually my first client to have a real, honest-to-gods Oedipus Complex?”

Jon flinches, his face burning. “Mrs. Stark isn’t even my mother,” he snaps over her laughter.

“And she never let you forget it, did she?” the woman—demon— _Sansa_ , says with obviously feigned sympathy. “I don’t blame you for not trying to bring her back too.”

“Would I be allowed to ask for them both?” Jon asks. There had been no love between him and Mrs. Stark, but he knows his sister and brothers miss their mom.

“No,” the woman replies. “A soul for a soul. They’re very valuable commodities, you understand.”

Jon doesn’t really, nor does he want to, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he repeats what he said when he buried the box. “I want my brother, Robb Stark, to be alive again.”

She gives him another smile, slow and full of heat. Jon feels naked in front of her, and he has a sudden and absurd urge to cover himself.

“Most of my deals are normally fat old politicians or ugly investment bankers. They want me to give them money or make some naughty pictures disappear, but you? Challenging and pretty. Such a nice change of pace.”

Suddenly, Jon feels lighter, and he realizes he can move again.

“Seal the deal, Jon Snow.”

He knows what he’s expected to do, but he can’t make himself move towards her. Sansa’s uncanny resemblance to Catelyn Stark makes the thought of kissing her almost unbearable. Mrs. Stark never hit him before, but he can’t shake the feeling that she’d find a way to try if he did this. The words  _Oedipus Complex_ ring in his ears.

“Seal the deal,” Sansa repeats, and to Jon it sounds like she’s enjoying his indecision more than she should. “Don’t you want your brother back?”

He does. Gods help him, he does. He lunges forward and presses his lips to hers. He intends on making it a quick kiss, to get it over with, but her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and keep him close. She pushes closer, and he gasps in surprise and a little bit of pain. A tongue is shoved into his mouth, sliding over every inch in clumsy movements as filthy as a porno. It’s not about pleasure. It’s an invasion, a claim, and the realization makes Jon’s heart rate double. After an endless moment, she pulls away, giving him a final hard bite to his lips as she goes. Jon thinks he feels a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, that was nice,” Sansa breathes. She gives him a knife-edged smile, her slick, red lips looking bloody in the moonlight. “Much better than my investment bankers.”

“Is…is it done?” Jon asks.

“It’s done. Your brother will live again, and in ten years, you’ll be  _mine_.”

Jon gasps when she grips his half hard cock through the front of his jeans and tries to move away. 

She laughs at him again before letting him go. “Goodbye, Jon Snow. You’d best get to the cemetery. Your brother will wake soon.”

With that, she disappears.

Jon lets out a shaky breath. It’s done. She said Robb will be awake soon. He almost feels good, but then Sansa’s last words sink in. His brother will be awake soon, awake and under six feet of dirt.

He’s sprinting before he can finish the thought, and he swears he can hear Sansa’s laughter ringing in his ears.


End file.
